The Fan
by LoveIsAllYouNeed96
Summary: The reader plays bass in a band. After a gig performing in a bar, Dean hangs back to talk to her.
1. Chapter 1

The audience cheered as you finished your set for the night. Offering a small smile to them in response, you noticed your hand shaking slightly. You never had this problem when you were playing, just afterwards when you remembered that you were actually playing in front of people. The barrier between you and them dropped as soon as the music stopped, no longer lost in the music you played, your brain became aware that there were a lot of people staring at you. The centre of attention. Something you hated to be. Your fellow bandmates walked over as you carefully put your bass down on the stand before allowing (Your/Friend's/Name) to put an arm around you with a smile. You all walked to the front of the stage and took a bow.

The crowd was pretty impressive for a small bar in an even smaller town. Tourists didn't know this place existed, so the floor was usually filled by locals and their friends from out of town. They continued to cheer as you bowed one last time, and then it was lights out on the stage. The dimmer bar lights went on around you, allowing you to navigate your way back to your bass and stand. Unplugging the wire from the front, you unplugged it from the amp and proceeded to roll it around the palm of your hand until it was small enough to fit into your case.

"Great show tonight, Y/N." (Y/F/N) spoke in a congratulatory tone with an accompanying smile. "The crowd loved it."

"They did?" Your brain was already beginning to doubt just how much they did actually enjoy it. I mean…they could have just clapped out of sympathy for bad bass playing. Or just because they were being nice. The locals round here were always nice. They would have clapped even if you'd done nothing but lie around for the entire set.

The crowd had filtered out of the bar now, only a few remained.

"Excuse me?" You heard a voice speak up from beside the stage.

You turned to see a guy around 24/25 with quiffed brown hair and light green eyes. Even in the crappy lights of the bar, you could still tell that he was like something out of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue. You know, the kind of guy that just doesn't exist in real life. And yet, here he was. That really didn't help when you then had to respond to him a few seconds later…after you'd stopped taking in just how sex god-ish he was.

"Hi-" You voice stuttered out. This was the part you always hated. Social interaction had never been your strong point, nevermind with a stranger. A very attractive stranger nonetheless.

"You were great." He commented with a smile.

You hated getting compliments, and you didn't know why. Compliments were supposed to be a good thing. Something to make you feel better. For you however, they didn't have this effect. Compliments were awkward, and normally required an equally awkward style of deflecting from the niceness being spoken about you to a different topic.

"Thanks…" You answered in a tone that clearly emphasised the awkwardness without even meaning to do it. It was as your brain just wanted everyone around you to think you were some kind of freak. Fuck you brain.

The guy cracked a small smile, but didn't seem to be bothered by the whole situation. That's weird…everyone's bothered by it.

"Honestly, you were good out there, despite what your brain might think." He spoke up.

Your eyes widened suddenly. What the actual hell? How did he know what your brain was thinking?

"My little brother…he has social anxiety…" He paused. "Trust me, I know the signs. I saw your hands shaking as you went to the front of the stage."

"That obvious, huh?" You smirked but didn't know why.

"Don't beat yourself up over something that was perfect." The guy replied before pointing to your head. "Ignore it, it's wrong."

"I don't think brains are usually wrong about much."

"Yeah, now you sound like Sam." The guy smirked. "Y/N, right?"

You nodded.

"I know it's hard when you're brain's always trying to bring you down, but you can fight it. Kick it in the ass. You can tell it to stuff it's crap, because you know you did good, and that's all that matters…not Mr. Brain up there. He's the stupid one for not recognising that you're perfect."

You wiped away a tear that trickled down your cheek. "Thank you."

He smiled the most beautiful, thoughtful, caring smile you had ever seen. "Don't mention it." The guy then dug threw his pocket before pulling out a business card. The details had been crossed out on it, but the number remained. A mobile number. "If you ever need to talk about anything, give me a call."

You nodded, taking the card from him and holding it tightly in your hand. "I will."

"Good." He nodded too, still smiling, before turning to walk away.

"Hey…" You called after him.

The guy stopped and glanced back.

"Where's your little brother?" You asked, curious about the person who also shared your social anxiety.

The guy quipped a smile. "He got a full ride to Stanford." And he couldn't look more proud if he'd tried.

As the bell on the door tinged, you smiled.

You could do this.

You could.

And you would.

For him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Shit!_

_Shit! Shit! Shit!_

_Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!_

Walking back and forth in panic and fear, you pushed your fringe back with your hand as you tried not to hyperventilate. Attempting two deep breaths, you stepped closer to the curtain and slowly peeked through the gap.

A decision you immediately regretted.

_Holy fuck!_

Jerking back from the curtain, you shook your head and rushed backwards away from the curtain. Tripping over your own feet as you did so, you found yourself falling before you abruptly hit the ground on your ass. But you didn't care. A little bit of pain was nothing compared to the going on four thousand strong crowd that were waiting for you behind that piece of red fabric. Four thousand expectant fans all waiting for you to give them the performance of your life.

"No!..." You whimpered, shuffling back so that you were resting back against the wall, you brought your knees up to your chest and rested your arms on top of them.

_Do you really think you could do this? I mean really? Look at them all! There's so many of them out there. You're not good enough for them. Let's face it, you're screwed Y/N..._

"Shut up!"

"People usually say that after I've talked to them."

Furrowing an eyebrow, you instantly looked to the door to see...

Him.

"Your friends, they uhh, they let me in here." He began to explain. "They said you weren't doing too good."

Getting to your feet, you looked up at him in awe before closing the distance between the two of you in seconds as you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him as you cried.

His reaction was immediate, mirroring your arms with his own, pulling you closer to his chest and gently stroking your hair in reassurance.

"I can't do it!" You stated, tearfully.

"Yes you can..." He replied, pulling you away from him so that you were looking him in the eye. "Y/N, you can do this, and you know you can...you just gotta' have some faith in yourself."

"Dean..." Came another voice before a tall guy with shaggy brown hair walked in too.

Your eyes widened. "Sam..."

Sam furrowed an eyebrow as he looked to his brother.

"This is Y/N..." Dean answered.

That triggered an immediate response in Sam whose expression quickly changed into a cheeky one. "Oh...this is Y/N..."

Dean, knowing immediately that his little brother was trying to be a smart ass, rolled his eyes. "Yes." Looking back down at you, he smiled. "Y/N, I've already told you about my little brother, Sammy."

You nodded. "Hi."

"Hi." He smiled back.

Dean glanced through the curtain. "Wow..." He then turned back to you. "Y/N, you did good, kid. I mean, look at the place you were playing in the last time I saw you, and now this! That's awesome."

Sam looked through the curtain too before smiling. "You should be proud."

"Why?" You furrowed an eyebrow.

"Well, I mean, this..." Sam held the curtain so that you could catch a glimpse of the audience. "...this is your dream...right here, right now..."

You looked down at the floor before shaking your head. "I can't..." A tear trickled down your cheek. "I can't do it...I'm not as brave as you..."

Sam's expression was that of confusion as he walked over to you and gently took your hand in his. "Y/N...you're braver than me..."

You shook your head.

"Y/N, it's true..." He continued. "All I did was make a bad job of going to college...you have built a whole career...you have thousands of people who adore you..."

"And you have us..." Dean added with a smile.

Sam nodded before turning to his brother. "Maybe you should be brave too..."

You furrowed an eyebrow before you were cut off as Dean crossed the room and placed a hand on your cheek as he pressed his lips against yours. Suddenly every dream you had ever had about the mysterious Abercrombie and Fitch guy in the leather jacket that had come to your aid that night was coming true. Kissing back, you smiled as he eventually pulled away.

"Finally..." You heard Sam mumble under his breath.

"This is the last call for _(Name of Your Band)_."

"They're waiting for you, tiger." Dean stated with a smile.

"You'll be here?" You asked, worried that they would disappear.

"No."

And then your heart broke. "But..."

"We'll be out there." Dean began. "Right at the front actually."

Sam nodded.

"Your friends scored us some tickets so we thought, why not."

"You guys are the best." You smiled.

"We know." Dean answered before motioning towards the stage. "And remember, brains are stupid."

You smirked. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Y/N." They both answered.

Turning back, you picked up your bass guitar before walking off down the corridor.

Your band were ready and waiting for you as the final countdown began. (Your/Friends/Name) took your hand in his in reassurance and offered a smile.

"10."

_Are you sure about this?_

"9."

_Positive?_

"8."

_Four thousand..._

"7."

_That's a lot..._

"6."

_Too good for you._

"5."

_Turn around and run._

"4."

_Quickly now!_

"3."

_You're running out of time!_

"2."

_Fuck you, brain!_

"1."

The curtains flew open.


End file.
